He wanted her. More than a taste. More than a hint of the fire and passion that lurked below the surface, it was a consuming need.
Warning bells rang through his head. He had to put a halt to this madness before it reached a point where he would be hard-pressed to stop it.
Bells. No, that was the telephone. Running his hands up her arms, while doing his best to ignore the enticing strain of her breasts against her bodice, Connor used her as leverage to pry himself away to lift the receiver.
“Aye?” he rasped, aware that his voice was hoarse with the lust gnawing at him. “Thank ye.”
“Who was that?”
“Jensen informing me that supper is ready.”
“Odd way to let you know.”
“It’s something of a compromise.” He straightened his tie and took another step away from her. “I’d be happy to share the story if ye care to stay. Are ye hungry?”
“Ravenous.”
Her seductive huskiness did nothing to assuage his hunger for her. Quite frankly, he was starting to think nothing could. It was all he could do not to lay her back on his desk and take her hard and fast with all the furious passion raging inside.
Bugger it, if he ever were to have her, it wouldn’t be on a bloody desk.
Piper deserved better. And he’d want more time and maneuverability than it allowed, when it came down to it. Best he stop pondering the possibilities of the desk and set those lingering fantasies aside. Aye, but it was difficult task with her leaning back on it, watching him with wide, inviting eyes.
“Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
Aye, much better to have fantasies of dining tables instead of desks.
* * *
“I’ll not continue to argue whose philosophy is more profound, yours or his. I will concede, on my part, that Thoreau’s two years, two months, and two days in the Walden Woods were better spent than my two years”—Piper paused in mental calculation—“nine months, and nineteen days here.”
Laughter, free and easy, bubbled up in Connor. As it had frequently over the past few hours. All of them well spent. He’d never taken a meal he was so reluctant to come to an end. One hunger exchanged for another, the first suppressed—for the evening, at least—and the other satisfied by a tasty meal followed by Piper’s delicious tarts. The tantalizing taste offered some recompense for the other desserts he’d denied himself.
As he well should, he reminded himself.
They’d talked, long after the food was gone and only crumbs remained of the tarts. He’d discovered that her assertion about being a better stable boy than milkmaid hadn’t been entirely in jest. She’d tried her hand at both as a child. Her interest in horses gained her some education in all aspects of equine care. Topics of conversation from there had ranged from breeding and racing horses to literature, agriculture, and science. Having lived years in relative seclusion, Piper was remarkably well-read, making up for what she lacked in practical application with a nimble mind and even quicker tongue.
Connor thought he hadn’t laughed so much in some time. Or enjoyed a person’s company so well. He wasn’t eager for the evening to end. And end it must at this very table. There wasn’t a spirited debate over the poetry of Longfellow versus Tennyson, a conversation arguing the significance of the Victor Chandler Chase at Ascot when compared to Cheltenham’s Gold Cup in the world of horse racing, or an expressive deliberation of the pantheistic philosophies of Thoreau that would keep his thoughts where they ought to be if he were left alone with her again.
Not that he was eager to part company.
“More wine?”
Piper nodded, and lifting the decanter, he refilled her glass and his own. As he was about to set it aside, a tap at the door announced the arrival of one of the footmen. “I beg yer pardon, m’lord. M’…ma’am.”
“He’s not a lord, Archie.” Piper’s voice was tinged with amusement, as they’d touched on that sensitive subject earlier.
“Yes, m’…ma’am.” He nodded and directed his attention to Connor. “M’lor—er, sir, Hilde was wondering if there will be anything else?”
Connor’s gaze shifted to her. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
He repeated her answer to the footman with a hint of sarcasm.
“Very good, m’lord.” The footman bowed, proper address forgotten or ignored. Connor claimed to be uncertain which it was. “That being the case, Hilde requested that I likewise remind you of the hour.”
“Did she now?” Connor pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. “Ye’ve reminded me, Archie. Ye may leave us.”
